


gentle wolves should beware the woods

by whoistorule



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-04
Updated: 2012-09-04
Packaged: 2017-11-13 13:26:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whoistorule/pseuds/whoistorule
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, that’s how it starts, a curtain of red-brown hair down her back, a path laden with pools of gold light, bright and dangerous.  (Little Red Riding Hood AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	gentle wolves should beware the woods

Once upon a time, that’s how it starts, a curtain of red-brown hair down her back, a path laden with pools of gold light, bright and dangerous.  Stay in the shadows, father warned, the light has teeth.  But the gold shone so pretty on the flowers and the fields, the girl paid no heed, dancing in and out of the shadows, flirting with the sun’s light, drawing it to her.  

The wolf followed after, close at her heels, but the light begged her leave it behind.  There was no room for lupine smiles, the sun-dappled fields belonged to those with golden manes.  The Queen cut the wolf from her, an act of mercy, she said, for the wolf was wild and the girl was not.  Best to bury the wolf in the shadows and bring the girl to the light, for there were flowers in the fields and a girl so beautiful deserved to shine where she can be seen, only where she can be seen. 

“My my,” the Queen said, her voice the whisper of silk, with all the sweetness of summer, “what beautiful red hair you have.”

“The better to honor you, my Queen,” she said, head bowed in the lamplight.

(Younger and more beautiful, she was, she would be, but the Queen had read her stories too.  She knew her place, she knew her fate, she knew she must try to stop it all the same.)

She’s read her stories, see, she knew there was no danger for beautiful girls in the sunlight.  Danger lurked in shadows, with wolves and lions and scavenging birds.  But the wolf was a lady and the girl was a wolf.  The forest faded for the lion’s den and with gold in her hair and honey at her lips, she forgot what it was to have teeth of her own.

— 

The path was easy enough to see in the forest, but the red city was full of paths, each more treacherous than the last.  Stay in the shadows her father said, stay on the path, bring your gifts to the end of the road, stay with me, be safe.  But sword fell true and he left her there to be swallowed by the blinding dark.  The only gift she had was herself, and the Queen was demanding of it.

 —

“Your father told you to stay in the shadows, did he?” The lion Queen laughed, wine red as blood painting vicious lines on her lips.  ”But what does he know, he’s only a man.  He held his fate in his hands and he cast it away, and gold makes better armor than honor, my pet, and he and I were in very different stories.  You mustn’t blame him for his treacherous heart, he thought himself the victor for the naked weapon in his hand, but my weapons are well-hid, and more powerful than his.”

The Queen smiled her leonine smile and shook out her mane, sending the girl away, back to the bowels of the castle, far from the chaos that raged outside their walls.

Her prison was dark within, but Sansa could still make out the glinting golden lights through the bars of her castle-cage.  Tonight the fires came close, kissing the walls, lapping at the windows with hot red tongues.  The Dog came soon after, nipping at her heels.

“My my,” he said, his voice harsh with smoke and fear, “what a beautiful voice you have, little bird.”

“All the better to sing for you, good ser.”  High and wavering, her voice cut through the flames, chasing the Dog away.

—

When the red tide ebbed and the fires with it, they called the girl a woman and wrapped her in silks.  A gift, the Queen said, for her family, a present for the Imp.

He laid the lion cross her shoulders, and stole her wolf away.

“My my,” the Imp said, drawing back the curtains of their marriage bed, “What long legs you have.”

“All the better to kneel for you, my husband.”  Her voice wavered, afraid of the monster without and the man within.  Shamed by her fear, he turned his back, but the lions owned her cage all the same.

—

The mirror was bright and framed in silver, but the face that looked back was hers no longer.  Hair dark and dull in the lamplight, her red cast off like a discarded cloak.  Only her eyes were the same.  Bright and blue, deep as shadowed pools, she began to weep,   
  
“My my,” the Lord said, cupping her chin possessively between his fingers, “what beautiful eyes you have my natural born daughter.” His thumbs brushed against her cheeks and came away wet.

“All the better to obey you with, my Lord,” she said, head held high, her gaze meeting his until he looked away.

—

The world drifed by beyond her frozen prison, high in the sky.  Here the light was sharp, it cut through the palace like shards of glass, revealing bright red beneath dull brown; a wolf stirred in the bird-cage, her low growl rumbling through winter’s wind.  
  
“My my,” he whispered, his hot breath brushing the hollow of her throat, his wine-stink wafting through the air, “what lush lips you have my dear.”  
  
“All the better to kiss you with, father,” she whispered, following his dance, all a part of their practiced routine.  

—

“I’ve read my stories,” she said, her heels like claws clicking against the stone beneath,  “And the girl always gets saved, whether it’s by the knight, or the huntsman, the fool or the golden prince,” she circled him and his eyes followed her best they could, bent up as he was.  “But of course, you knew that.  You always planned it like that.  Planned to unveil me like a storybook princess.”

Her hair shines bright and true in the light of the Eyrie, blows about her, cloaks her in strands of red.

“I’ve read my stories, Lord Baelish, but I’m not the girl, you see.  I’m the wolf.”

The wind whistled through the moon door, blew it open with a bang.

“Alayne,” he said, even now, “please, what a forgiving heart I know you have, please.”  His whines matched pitch with the squeal of the wind.

She sunk to her knees beside him.  With a push he fell, screams drowned by the wind, down down down, into the frozen bright.

“All the better to hate you with.”

The wolf looked out through the girls eyes and Sansa Stark smiled.


End file.
